Page 45 of Run to Me

She stares straight ahead with a severe scowl, like she’s angry with the entire world. Not at all what I expected to find. However, I shouldn’t be surprised. My girl doesn’t break easily.

Wearing an oversized T-shirt and cotton panties, she grips a large tote bag to her chest in a protective hold.

“Birdie, baby. What happened?”

“Boys always ruin things,” she says, but hearing her usual monotone doesn’t put me at ease.

Whether she’s angry or excited, Maisy reveals little emotion through voice alone. Her eyes communicate what she’s feeling, and I need to see them to assess her true state of mind. Unfortunately, she’s lying too close to the damn wall.

“I’m picking you up,” I declare, springing into action.

“No.”

“Yes. You need me to hold you.” I need to hold you.

Not giving her a chance to argue further, I lift her into my arms and settle on the floor with my back against the wall. With the bag wedged between us, she folds into me like a limp rag doll instead of coiling with her usual tension.

She closes her eyes when I sweep the curls away from her skin to get a better look at her injuries. There’s a large scrape along the left side of her face, an irritated spot on her nostril where she removed her nose ring, and a fresh bruise on her swollen cheekbone. Thankfully, everything appears to be superficial and should heal with little to no scarring, which she’ll be pleased to learn. From the gritty dirt and dried blood in her hairline, I can tell she hasn’t showered since whatever happened took place. She must’ve taken the first flight available after the incident.

“Talk to me, my beautiful girl,” I say, coaxing her with a gentle tone.

“Don’t use that voice with me,” she snaps. “Don’t treat me like a victim.”

“Okay. You’re not a victim.”

“Damn right. I still have my bag.” She squeezes the bag tighter against her chest.

A picture forms in my mind as I piece together the clues. To say the conclusion I reach relieves me, considering all the other horrific scenarios whirring through my head, is a huge understatement.

“Maisy, were you mugged?”

She scoffs and says, “Obviously not.”

I continue my subtle inspection of her visible injuries. Several scrapes and bruises mar her hands and legs, like road rash, but her arms appear to be untouched.

“Why are you here?” she asks.

“Tate sent me. She’s worried because you’re not answering your phone.”

“How did she—? Ugh.” She buries her face in my chest, mumbling against my shirt. “I forget we share our locations. Marcus’s stupid rules. Fucking dictator.”

From what I’ve learned, Marcus is in charge of Tatum’s security and runs a tight ship in their little group. He also despises my brother after Jake exposed Tatum while she was hiding from the paparazzi. The whole situation was a disaster, and Jake earned himself the title of public enemy number one in Marcus’s eyes.

“Marcus seems like a laid-back guy,” I tease.

The corner of Maisy’s mouth lifts. “Not even close.”

Feeling more confident about the progress I’m making, I give in to my true nature—to my need to care for her.

“Let me tell you what’s about to happen.” She stiffens in my arms, but I forge ahead, grazing my fingers along her back in soothing strokes. “I’ll run you a bath and wash your hair. Then I’ll tend to your wounds and tuck you into bed. It’s your choice whether I stay the night, but I will not leave until I know you’re okay. Understood?”

She hesitates before nodding.

“Good girl,” I say, dropping a kiss on the top of her head. When I tug the bag from her arms, she releases it without protest. “I need you to do something for me first.”

“What?”

Resting a knuckle under her chin, I say, “I need you to look at me, birdie.” I need to see your eyes.